Wild Horses
by frooit
Summary: Wherein Cloud acquires Fenrir and things go wrong.


**wild horses**  
_ff7, cloud & fenrir  
by lilnee_

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It's midday and Cloud's been sitting here for an hour already. The Sun's high and glaring, forcing him to sit in the little shade of his motorbike, propping up against the side. He's knee-deep in dust, the Midgar badlands. Cloud doesn't know how far out he is but he can guess. It all looks the same from one side to the other. The grit and the rocks, yellow and red. The few shrubby plants and twisted ash-like trees (there used to be life out here but it's all been sucked away). Nothing grew here now. The only difference in landscape is to the east and west, where he can just see the ridge of the mountains, the green of the plains beyond that (glimmering watery on the horizon) and the wavery top of the highest plate in Midgar, just the summit of the Shinra tower, the frame of the Sister Ray. So he's pretty far out then. He hadn't realized he'd gone so long without checking his speed or surroundings. You did tend to lose track of time out here.

It's dusty and hot (the rush of the wind whipping and constant). It's a dust bowl of a valley, sucking through all the wind that comes down from the peaks. It must collide all right here. It didn't used to be like this. It was probably green at some point, and maybe even vivid with life. Further east from here the way is blocked by water and muck. It must have looked much different. Years ago. It isn't because it's ugly out here that Cloud doesn't like it, it's just too close to Midgar to be free of its monsters. You'd see all kinds of left overs, the rejects, and he doesn't really want anything coming up on him unawares. He's not exactly well equip. All his swords he left back at the bar, and he's wearing what Denzel calls his _civilian clothes_ (he doesn't know what makes his other clothes so special to make him say that, but he guesses he's alright with it). Just a shirt and some old pants, beat up work boots. He only dressed like this when he worked on his bike, every other time he was more formal. Ready. He's the guard dog, the watch man. This belt though is a new addition. These pants he's wearing are nearly too big for him and they sag over the mouth of his boots, coming over the laces. Makes him feel like a little kid or something, too small. The fact that he didn't seem to be able to get away with anything without stirring someone's attention didn't help. Barret called him _little buddy_ the first time he saw him like this: laid back, more _normal_. They still couldn't just lie low and let him be Cloud.

Tifa always seemed to find it easier to hound him than anyone else, too. She's been chirping in his ear ever since he was little. The last time he'd talked to her in fact, she told him not to go out on his bike like he was. _Atleast put a helmet on_, she'd said. He hadn't said a thing back, just sat and nodded, nursing his drink (water, because he didn't like the taste of the other liquids Tifa's bar had to offer). Yuffie calls him _intense_. They call him quiet. He calls it something else. Guilt, maybe.

He wishes faintly then that he'd taken up that habit his friend had shown him so long ago (it seemed like forever anyway). Smoking. Something better to do than twittle his thumbs at least. Something to relax and distract. The only reason he hadn't started it sooner though is because he couldn't stand the nostalgia. Couldn't even light one without thinking about him, couldn't even walk passed a smokey bar without the thought, the twinge. Zack. Although, with all the wind, he doubted he could even get a good light. It all works out in the end. Somehow. He stands then, turns to the bike, green and ugly and missing most of it's outside body work, and tries the key.

Nothing happens.

What would Zack have thought of this? Maybe he'd have laughed. He lets his head hang. He'd gotten the bike a few weeks ago. It had been sitting on the outskirts of a small village (leaned against other junk, tires bald, frame rusted). The town ran along the coast, a little ways from Midgar. He'd been there for work but couldn't leave without asking about it. He feels guilty, then, thinking about it now. The man had asked for 1000 gil and Cloud had given it to him. His thoughts were that he could fix it up. The man had appeared pleased, a little surprised even. He grew solemn however as Cloud started moving it onto the road. He said he couldn't bare to have her chopped up and had him promise not to. He agreed. That's the reason why he hadn't sold her already, he said. No one was willing to put in the time, they just wanted her massive engine or wheels. Cloud hadn't told Tifa about it right way. He waited until much later, avoiding the confrontation as much as possible. They're a family now and he's supposed to be responsible and look out for them and tell them all he does.

She eventually did find out though, and he had to protest to her that all the leg work had been getting to him. He's local, sure, delivering things for people who couldn't by rights make the trip themselves, but it took him days trekking from Midgar to whatever other village was close. Between the time it took him to complete one delivery another one had come in. He didn't get to see Tifa or the kids much. It was starting to wear on him, making him tired and removed. He didn't say all this but she got the picture and wasn't too mad at him afterward. She gave him the _eye_, but that was almost certainly better than what might have come.

It's looking like this bike might not have been such a good idea, but he won't admit it. He hadn't known where to start on his own so he'd talked to Cid during one of the times the group had been together. He'd let it sit for a while at first, in fact. Had it outside, resting against the building, collecting even more dust and wear, waiting even longer for new life before he did anything. The group almost always stopped by, one at a time or even in pairs. When he saw his chance he went for it. Came out with it as simply as he could: _I've got a bike, I want to fix it up, can you help?_ He was aware that Cid had been planning out a new project and didn't know how loose his schedule was, but he asked anyway. Someone had told him once that there was no sense in not trying. He's always had a hard time of putting that to good use though. With this sarcastic _anything for an old friend_ tone, Cid had said _yes_ and then asked to see it. Cloud was embarrassed when he showed him. It was mostly naked, and albeit it was a big bike, it still looked small and frail. All faded green (probably left over from Shinra) and orange in places from rust. Cid had smiled just a tick and clapped Cloud on the shoulder (he really hated it when people did that), the sudden movement knocking him off balance.

"Yeah, we can fix this up. No problem," he said.

Cloud had felt a little at ease, hopeful even.

As he stands here now, both hands on the incredibly low handlebars, he's wondering why he hadn't listened to his doubt after all. But he couldn't have passed her up. He'd wanted something to do for so long, something of his own, something to occupy _his_ time. He'd given so much away, hadn't he? This was his. Love at first sight or teetering just on edge of it. Loathe and love do sound similar. In any event, they'd started working on her a little while after that agreement. This was his first serious test drive. He'd ridden her several times before this, it isn't the first time something's gone wrong. He'd taken her for a spin as soon as he'd handed the man his money. The man had nodded and said she still worked fine, she just didn't turn right. And she didn't. He kept his speed down but she was still clunky and the suspension was going. She got him home though. The next time out he learned more of her less appealing quirks. He'd slipped a gear on a straight away, the extra torque sending his back tire out and starting a speed wobble. He'd dumped it. Hard. Slid several feet through the sandpaper like terrain, rocks shredding up his bare skin. He'd stayed where he landed afterward, on his side, head spinning, and then got up. The bike was fine. Dirt had clodded in the front tire but other than that it all looked superficial. He didn't realize the extent of his own damage until he'd gotten back to the bar. Tifa had nearly smothered him, dragging him to the sink and dabbing a wet towel to his face. He said he was fine, she just huffed and pulled him into the bathroom. Denzel had looked grave as he watched. He wasn't used to a bike this big, and to be honest he hadn't ridden in a while. He was less than confident after that and now here he is. She's done many things to him (torn him up, thrown him down) but she's never lost power. It made his heart sink a little.

His phone rings then. It's set to vibrate. He twitches a little, pulling it out of his pocket. Tifa. He hadn't bothered to put all of the group's numbers in here, it had been her idea. She was trying to groom him into being more social, maybe. Always seemed to be doing little things like that. With her elbows propped on the edge of the bar she had clicked away on the phone. Cloud hadn't resisted. Yuffie had even gotten her hands on it too, editing her number. Her name came up after that as _Yuffie the Great_. He never answered the thing though, always letting it go to voicemail. Tifa sounds concerned now on the other end, to say the least. _Where are you, are you okay?_ Barret had left a message for him earlier with much the same sentiment, but asked more about Marlene than anything. He shrugs.

It's maybe a half an hour later when it goes off again. More Tifa. He leaves it and listens to the message afterward. It tells him that she's worried and she sent Cid out looking for him. He'd dropped by to check on his progress. _Sit tight_, she adds, and the line clicks silent. Several seconds after that call it's vibrating again. He's getting sick of this, he's already got a headache from the Sun beating down on his head. He looks to the screen and it reads Cid's number. Guesses he can answer that one and flips it open. Cid's voice is immediately attacking his ear. The roar of the truck's engine in the background deafening. He pulls the phone away, inches, and grimaces.

"The hell are ya!?"

"If I knew that, I'd have walked."

"Speak up! Damn!"

"I don't know!"

"That makes you fucked!"

Cloud doesn't respond. The wind blows on, buffering the two noises. He can hear a faint rumbling now as he listens, distracted. He turns to where it's coming from, just more ridges and rocks and dirt. The ground might as well have been quaking, this truck of Cid's wasn't exactly small. He used it to run scrap and other junk around from place to place. He was always doing something, it had to be big. Plus he wasn't really the kind of guy to do anything in moderation.

"I hear you," Cloud says.

"What!?" The line crackles.

He hangs up, the phone flicking closed as the truck comes into view, pulling around the side of a crumbling boulder. The giant rock does nothing to hide the even larger machine. He would have seen the dust flying out for miles if he'd just turned around. It's overkill maybe, but it sure beats the hell out of trying to walk her back to the city or leaving her out here. The truck comes to a halt several yards away (exhaust coughing out a belch in black). It's tires slip and slip as Cid breaks, not landing any purchase in the dust. That's another problem Cloud's noticed about riding out here. He'd have to get some goggles to cover his eyes. The door opens with a creak and Cid jumps from the cab, a precarious ways down. He comes stalking over, a cigarette dangling from his lip.

"Ah, what did ya do to her?"

At the comment Cloud feels something like embarrassment again, or insecurity. Maybe it was just him. He's inept and it's something he doesn't know about, something he didn't notice and can't fix. He doesn't say anything, of course, just lets Cid hunker down and take a look. He prods and fiddles and then tries the key. He puffs a grey plume into the wind, standing back up. The wisp is carried off as soon as it's out. Cloud tries not to notice it but he turns his head away despite, turning just that much not to smell it. Cid notices and passes it to his fingers, away from view. He doesn't seem too thrilled by Cloud's sudden intolerance, it visible in his eyes. Long day.

"Well, let's get her back. I can't do anything here."

"What's wrong with it?"

Cloud couldn't contain himself (and couldn't call it _her_ in front of Cid).

"She's got no power."

"I thought that was obvious."

"Don't go over thinking things, kid. It's not always as hard as it seems. Just needs a new battery."

Cloud looks down at the bike, green and monstrous and broken and all his. _Oh_. The emotion probably doesn't pass his face but he feels a little dumb for it anyhow. He kicks the stand back and starts rolling her forward, toward the bed of the truck. It's big enough to hold ten more motorbikes this size but most of the room is taken up by junk: old tires and equipment. He's been busy. Oil was the business to be in now and it looked like some of the stuff here was for that.

"Looks like you lost it," Cid says. He's pointing to the frame now as they walk. It looks worse in the bright sunlight than it had the day before, in the low haze of the early morning. It's bent and scraped clean in a few places. Cid hadn't seen it after his accident.

"Yeah."

Cid nods.

They get it in the back, wedged between a crate and some old reactor parts, securing it down with rope. It's a climb and a jump to get in or out of this thing. Cloud's breathing has quickened by the time they're sitting in the cab, radio screeching some trumpet laden music. He hadn't pegged Cid as the type, but then he never did pay much attention to what wasn't his immediate concern. He shifts to the side, leaning against the door and looks out the window. The cab is just as noisy as if you were outside. Windows wide and open (the glass broken out or removed). Cid had his own goggles down over his eyes, the wind coming through the windshield brought up sand with it, stinging and thick. It doesn't bother Cloud. He just wants to get back to the bar and start all over again, wants to get back on the horse. Cid says something then, but he doesn't catch it, the noise too much.

"What are ya goin' to name her?"

He repeated it louder this time.

"She's a brute. Needs a strong name!"

Cloud doesn't bother to raise his voice.

"I don't know."

"How about _pain in the ass_ for starters?"

Cid chuckles.

"I never th—"

"—Ya need to speak up!"

He balks. He never thought about it before, naming the bike. It didn't seem all that important until now. He'd never named anything (not a dog, not a toy) and doesn't know how well he'd do at it. He waits until they've pulled up and are unhooking the bike to answer the question. Tifa and the kids are sitting outside on the steps. Denzel and Marlene's eyes wide, Tifa's face a stern look turning into the slightest of smiles. As he's carefully rolling her down the ramp to the ground he says, "It wouldn't feel right naming it until it's done."

"Hah," Cid pauses to light a new cigarette, "I guess you've got some sense after all, Spike."


End file.
